


Beggars Would Ride

by Persiflage, Wolfsbride



Series: Doomsday [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/pseuds/Wolfsbride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doomsday: The Aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beggars Would Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RimauSuaLay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RimauSuaLay/gifts), [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/gifts), [LadyDuchess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDuchess/gifts).



_One Month Ago_

It’s three am when M’s special mobile rings. She rouses quickly; she’s barely sleeping these days anyway. Tanner is on the line. 

“Ma’am. Sorry to wake you.” She doesn’t think she’s ever heard him sound so excited. It’s probably not the end of the world then.

“It’s fine. What is it?” She tries to keep from snapping. The only good news she wants relates to finding Bond. She’s trying not to give up hope, but three months is an eternity when an agent is missing.

“It’s Bond!” Tanner is practically gleeful. 

M takes the mobile away and stares at it. She fears it’s just her wishful thinking. Hesitantly, she puts the phone back to her ear. “I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

“Bond has been brought into our headquarters in Saudi Arabia. And he has _it_!”

There’s no need to specify what _it_ is. The whole thing had gone down like the plot from an old spy novel; a relic from the past like M sometimes thought herself to be. But even in this era of technology, stolen uranium was more dangerous than most secrets, and wherever it was sold, she’d had to send an agent to retrieve it. Not just any agent, her best. And that had meant sending Bond.

She breathes deeply. It wouldn’t do to lose her composure now. “How badly is he hurt?” She’s proud that her voice doesn’t waver.

“Pretty bad.” Tanner’s voice is muted. “Your people picked him up outside Harad. They presume he made it that far on sheer determination and luck.”

Closing her eyes, M pinches the bridge of her nose. Alive. He’s alive. That’s the most important part. Tanner is talking again and she forces herself to listen.

“They’ve stabilized him and we’ve secured the package. There’s a private jet standing by.”

“Thank you, Tanner. And Tanner?”

“Ma’am?”

“Make sure no one connects my personal funds to Bond’s retrieval. He made it to our SA office under his own power. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When M hangs up her mobile, she sits staring for a moment, and then scrambles out of bed. She dresses carefully. While the SA Headquarters supports Britain, it is, first and foremost, a Muslim country. 

*~*~*~*

There is a soft click as the wiretap is turned off. Its operator sits back and then reaches inside his suit jacket for his mobile. “Looks like I’m off to Riyadh.”

*~*~*~*

M sits by Bond’s hospital bed as she waits for the anaesthesia to wear off. She’s been assured that he’s only sleeping not unconscious. Or dead as she’d first thought on finally seeing him in the flesh. Her hands tremble and she clenches them in response.

He’s a right mess. His left eye is swollen completely shut; his cheeks are battered, his lip split. There is a red burn mark about an inch wide around his neck. She knows that beneath the flimsy hospital gown, the story is even worse. The doctor had apprised her of the details at some length.

She wants to weep. 

She’d known the whole mission was a wash from the outset. Scenarios fell apart as fast as they could assemble them. The foundations they were trying to build disappearing into the shifting sands of this damn country. And yet, she’d had to do something. 

She remembers calling Bond into her office and invoking the privacy protocols. She remembers briefing him, as sparse and as nebulous as the details were. She remembers wishing she could give him the choice. But there hadn’t been anyone else she could have sent. If anyone had even the remotest chance of success, she'd known it would be Bond.

A groan drags her out of her thoughts.

When she looks up from studying her hands, Bond is looking at her, eye hazy with pain and the receding effects of the anaesthesia. His lips move but all she hears is a slight rasp.

She gets up quickly and retrieves the small cup of water one of the nurses had left earlier. When she returns to his side, she bends the straw and then slips it into his mouth. She allows him a few sips and then takes it away. 

Bond licks his lips, tongue hovering over the wound a moment before he speaks. “Sorry.” His voice is like sandpaper on wood.

She almost does weep then. Tears catch in her throat and she grasps his hand. Leaning over, she hugs him as much as his injuries and position will allow. “Dear boy. You have _nothing_ to be sorry for.” 

Bond nuzzles into her neck. “Late.” He mutters against her skin.

Easing herself back, M lifts her free hand and touches Bond’s face. “Perfectly understandable given the circumstances.”

He grimaces. “Canister?”

“Secure.” She reassures him. “You did well, James. Very well indeed.”

Sighing, M releases Bond’s hand and steps back. She wants to leave him to rest. Now that he’s awake, there will be tests that need to be completed to make sure he’s fit for travel. She wishes she could give him time, but it’s one thing for her to be here in order to debrief him; it’s quite another for her to linger. 

She knows the kind of rumours that circulate around MI6 and beyond about her interactions with Bond. She can’t afford to fan the flames. Something of her thoughts must show in her face because Bond clears his throat.

“Wrong. Everything was wrong.” 

It’s painful to listen to his voice grate but she doesn’t stop him from talking.

“Canister wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Wrong number of men.”

M listens as Bond gives her a summary of the many things that had gone awry, stopping him every few sentences to make him take some more water. When he’s finished giving his report, she pats his hand. “You can submit your written report later.”

Bond nods. He’s looking more alert, for which she’s glad.

She shoves her hands in her pockets to stop herself from touching him again. “Right. Well, I’d better get back to London.”

She turns to go, pauses and then turns back to him. “Bond. I expect you to take your full Rest and Recovery the moment you’re back on British soil, do I make myself clear?”

When Bond actually offers her a lopsided smile, in deference to his bruised lip, a weight lifts from her shoulders and her heart.

*~*~*~*

“I did as you asked.” The English is heavily accented. 

“Good. Where is it?” 

A packet of riyal is exchanged for a tiny recording device. 

“There won’t be any trouble, will there? My job…”

“It’s fine. No one will know. You may go.”

*~*~*~*

_Present Day_

M lies in bed hours after Bond has finally left, thinking about that almost failed mission. Sleep eludes her. Someone has betrayed her and it rankles. 

She ignores the fact that she herself has broken every rule on fraternisation that MI6 has. Her husband is dead; she’s not likely to get pregnant; and it’s not as if their relationship has affected Bond’s ability to do his job. In some ways, he is a better agent now than he ever was. 

She thinks about how he took care of her after her husband died. Everyone had tiptoed around her; put up with her increasingly strident behaviour. Bond had braved her temper and her caustic tongue and manhandled her into dealing with her grief. 

It had changed the tone of their relationship. 

He is still her best right hand. But now that loyalty is extended to all areas of her life. They’ve become something of an unbeatable team.

M’s lips firm. Flinging aside the bed covers, she sits up. She’ll be damned if she’s going to let Bond take the fall after all the times he’s gone to the wall for her. Snatching up her mobile, she jabs the number two and then puts it to her ear.

“Ma’am?” Tanner’s voice is bleary with sleep. 

She pushes aside the small twinge she feels about waking her Chief of Staff. “Meet me in the office as soon as you’re able.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tanner says, after a long pause.

M ends the call. Tanner is confused but she knows he won’t question her order. At least not yet. Getting up, she dresses quickly, not bothering to take care with her appearance. The only ones to see her will be Tanner and a few guards and they won’t say anything. There is a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it in. She won’t waste it on being vain.

*~*~*~*

Tanner arrives several minutes after she does and M meets him outside her office door. “Come with me while I explain.” She starts off at a brisk walk. Tanner has to jog to keep up.

“I need to go to down to Q division. I want you to check the logs for the last eight weeks. See if there were any other private flights out in that period of time. See who they’re registered to and where they were going. And then I want you to go down to Records. Pull all of Bond’s mission files.”

It’s a few seconds before M realizes Tanner is no longer following her. She turns and sees him a few steps away. He’s staring at her in shock. 

“ _Everything_?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, _everything_! Get some of the guards to help.” She resumes walking and Tanner hurries to catch up to her. 

*~*~*~*

M stands in her office holding the small piece of equipment she’d taken from Q division. She moves next to her desk and turns the device on. It beeps intermittently. As she passes it over the surface, the beeping gets faster and louder when her hand reaches her phone. 

Her anger, which had been simmering all night, flares into rage. To be spied on for her protection is one thing. But this is another matter altogether. 

She begins to ponder who it might be. She finds it highly unlikely, nearly impossible, to believe that Tanner is the snitch. The man doesn’t have a disloyal bone in his body. A thought occurs to her and she goes into his office and repeats the procedure. When the machine reacts in the same way, she is over come with relief. And then her fury returns full force.

How _dare_ they! 

She’s aware her wrath is unjustified. It’s all about the greater good. She could, at any moment succumb to the pressures of her job, lose her mind and threaten to take over the Parliament building. She understands the protocol; it’s the feeling of violation she can’t abide. 

Tanner enters while she’s wrestling with herself. He looks slightly off. She tilts her head. She starts to ask him a question, glances at his desk, then thinks the better of it. She motions him out into the hall.

“What have you found?” She keeps her voice low.

Tanner follows her lead. “There were several other requests for private jets in the last eight weeks. Only one will be of interest to you.” He hands her a sheet of paper. 

Her brows rise when she reads the destination and the name associated with it. “That bloody little bald headed, beady eyed sneak!” She hisses. “I knew that smug bastard didn’t much like me but I didn’t think he would stoop to this!”|

“Quite.”

M checks her watch. There are a couple of hours left. Time enough to plan her strategy. “Wait a moment.” 

Going back into her office, she sits at her desk and eyes her phone with disdain. Shaking off the feeling, she pulls a sheet of headed paper out of its slot and picks up a pen. She writes a note and then folds the paper before sliding it into a matching envelope. She addresses it briefly. Rising to her feet, she steps back out into the hall and turns the envelope over to Tanner. 

“Deliver this and then contact Q. I want this whole floor swept for bugs. Then I would like you to load Bond’s mission files into one of our vehicles.”

Tanner seems to have decided the whole day is going to be surreal and he will no longer be shocked by anything. “Yes, ma’am.”

*~*~*~*

When M calls on the Prime Minister, she doesn’t look like she’s spent a night without sleep. She’s impeccably dressed. Her hair is a glistening cap of white. She looks sleek and deadly.

“Just a moment! You can’t go in there.” The Prime Minister’s aide tries to stop her progress but he stumbles to a halt when she flicks him a look. M doesn’t bother to knock. The Prime Minister is sitting at his desk and he looks up sharply at M’s entrance. 

“Now see here.” He starts to rise. 

M motions him back into his seat. “Oh, do sit down.” She moves to stand in front of his desk when he complies. “I’ve come to discuss a small matter.” She throws the set of papers Bond had given her onto his desk. 

“You were meant to sign those.”

“Yes, I know. Formality only, wasn’t it? Well, I’d like an explanation.” 

The Prime Minister dithers a bit and then meets her gaze. “We have proof of your… insubordination.” 

M blinks. “Show me.” 

Sighing, the Prime Minister stands and retrieves a laptop. Putting it on his desk, he flips it open, boots it up and goes through the security procedure. Calling up a file, he turns it towards M. 

She watches as the particulars of her meeting with Bond play out on the screen. It’s hard to believe but it seems as though she’d forgotten how horribly injured he had been back then. It calls to mind her frantic worry. Inside she is seething, but her face is calm.

When the file finishes playing, the Prime Minister closes everything down and shuts the laptop. “So, you see. I had no choice.”

“What utter rubbish!”

The Prime Minister looks startled. “Now, M. You can’t deny…”

“I don’t have to deny anything! All I see is a superior congratulating an agent on an exemplary job completed under the most trying of conditions, nothing more. Or has compassion gone out of style.”

“Of course not. It just looks…”

“To an unbiased eye, it looks like nothing more than it is. If I may ask, _Sir_ , were you allowed to view this without prejudice, or did you have someone whispering in your ear beforehand?”

The Prime Minister studies her. “You know.”

“Of course I know. I didn’t get to be head of MI6 by being stupid.”

“Quite.” Now the Prime Minister is looking apologetic. “If you know, then you must realize that there are a great many people who are not…”

M interrupts him again. “Yes, yes. I’m well aware that I’m not the belle of the ball. Which leads me to wonder why _I’m_ not the one getting papers. That would certainly please…” 

She stops, thinking it through. “Oh. Of course. If I get the boot, Tanner becomes acting head of MI6 until someone else is called. Right now, that would be Chairman Jones, would it not?

The Prime Minister nods.

“Which wouldn’t suit that slimy little prick’s plans one bit. He needs time to manoeuvre himself into position if he wants my job. By yanking Bond, he effectively hamstrings me and undermines my reputation as well.” 

“Is Bond really that vital?”

M barely refrains from looking heavenward in a plea for patience. At least he’s given her a good opening. She moves away from his desk and opens the door to his office. “Mr Tanner? Would you please come through?”

When she steps back Tanner enters the Prime Minister’s office. He’s carrying a banker’s box. He’s followed by several MI6 guards. They are also carrying similar boxes.

M gestures. “You may set them down over there.” 

One by one the boxes are placed on the Prime Minister’s desk. Eventually, they are stacked so high that the Prime Minister has to stand to see over them. M nods her thanks. “You may go.”

After the last guard has left, Tanner exits and closes the door behind him.

The Prime Minister looks confused. “What are these?”

“These boxes are full of all the information on all of the missions Bond has completed since he was recruited.” 

Opening one box, M pulls out a file. “2006 – the little matter in Prague.”

Replacing the file, she closes the box and opens another. “2007 – hostage crisis. That was a joint effort but Bond took the lead.”

M takes a few minutes to give the high points of Bond’s career. Closing the last box she’d opened, M rests her hand on the top. “I hope I haven’t bored you but I thought it was time you became aware of the total sum of Mr Bond’s contribution to our cause.” 

She smacks the top of the box. “My point is, he is my best agent for a damn good reason. He gets the job done. He gets the impossible job done. That uranium did not retrieve itself.”

M crosses her arms and fixes the Prime Minister with a steely glare. “Now, if you or someone else has issues with my age or the way I do things, then tough. You may not like Bond’s methods, or mine, for that matter, but we’re not having a tea party here. My job is to protect Britain, and her interests and I will do so in whatever way necessary.”

Her glare gets more intense. “And if you’re just trying to make this out as my being too close to my operatives then you can kiss my wrinkled arse. We ask too much of these men and women for me to just stand issuing platitudes when what they most need is a kind word.”

The Prime Minister rallies himself. “Be that as it may, there is still the issue of misappropriation of funds.”

M’s eyes widen. She makes a note to have Q and his team check her house, as well as Tanner’s and Bond’s. Then her arms drop and she draws herself up. 

“Bollocks!” 

The Prime Minister actually jumps.

“That is utter shite and you know it. I get a salary on which I pay taxes. What I do with the money after that isn’t anyone’s business but my own. I’m sure records will show that no government money was used beyond the time allotted by protocol.”

As M considers the Prime Minister, she can see he’s still unsure. She goes in for the kill. “If I were a man and Bond were a woman, would we even be having this conversation?”

Rubbing a hand over his face, the Prime Minister nods and then picks up the bundle of papers M had thrown on his desk. “Fine. I’ll revoke my initial order.”

“Thank you.” She takes the papers out of his hand. “Just to make sure they do in fact get destroyed. Good day.”

She marches out, leaving Tanner and the others behind to collect Bond’s files.

*~*~*~*

When Bond answers his door, M sees that he’s wearing blue jeans and a tight white tee shirt. His feet are bare. He is unable to hide his surprise and pleasure at seeing her. 

“M! Come in, please.”

She follows him through to his living room. The two of them stand observing each other. She is the first to speak.

“That’s very casual dress for going into the office, James. I’m not sure I approve.”

Bond blinks and tilts his head. “Does this have something to do with being woken up at ass o’clock by Mr Cardigan and his men?” 

“In a way.” She digs into her bag and retrieves his Walther. She passes it to him butt first. 

Bond’s hands shake a little when he takes it from her. He’s staring at her like she’s the Queen and Virgin Mother rolled into one. “M. You... You didn’t.”

“I did. You’re reinstated.”

She watches as he moves to carefully put the gun down on the coffee table. She’s not prepared for him to stride towards her and gather her up in his arms. He swings her around while muttering his thanks in her ear. 

“James! Put me down this instant!” She smacks at his shoulders but she’s laughing too hard for her blows to have any effect. 

*~*~*~*

In his office, Gareth Mallory is brooding. He’s just heard the Prime Minister has changed his mind about Bond. He’s trying to work out what happened. As he lets his gaze wander, he spies an envelope he’d overlooked. 

Picking it up, he opens it and withdraws the single sheet of paper inside. He flips the top flap open and frowns at the headed paper. He wonders what the old bag wants. 

Opening it fully, he stares at what’s written there. It’s just one sentence. _You are being watched_.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first attempt at writing a some what plotted story. Thanks to RimauSuaLay for some of the crucial plot points. Huge thanks must be given to Persiflage without whom I would have totally given up and thrown my computer out the window. So thanks for all the hand holding and cheer leading and help with working out the details. Thanks also to Lady Duchess for pinch hitting when Persiflage wasn't around. 
> 
> I hope this meets everyone's expectations. If it doesn't please let me know. It's the only way I'll get better at plot.


End file.
